


A Spinner's Salvation

by AK_Vintage



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Did I Mention Angst?, Episode: s01e12 Skin Deep, F/M, Masturbation, Missing Scene, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4004509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AK_Vintage/pseuds/AK_Vintage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Belle was kind and good. She would look past his rotten teeth and his green-gold scales, his disconcerting eyes and his wicked claws, if he wished it... But what would she find, if he allowed her to see beneath it all?"</p>
<p>Belle's fall from the ladder forces Rumplestiltskin to confront the complexity of his feelings for his little caretaker. </p>
<p>Missing Scene/Skin Deep AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Spinner's Salvation

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to the prompt: "Dark Castle redemption smutty smut" as requested by a dear friend of mine. I hope you enjoy!

Rumplestiltskin was spinning.

She had fallen today. She’d taken a tumble from a ladder that was far too high for her to be climbing unassisted simply because she thought he could use a bit more light in his home. A bit more light in his life. “It’ll be spring soon,” she’d said. The corner of his mouth curled up a bit at the sheer ridiculousness of it. She’d nearly injured herself, or worse, because she couldn’t bear the thought of letting the Dark One live another moment in the darkness.

_Oh, if she could see you now._

Recently, Rumplestiltskin had managed to hold off on his descent into the ever-present blackness until his little caretaker had retired for the night. It was much easier to pretend that there was still a shred of humanity left in his ravaged soul when she was around – Belle was like walking sunshine, and when her daily chores brought her anywhere near where he was working, he swore he could feel the warmth and the light of her all the way down to his bones. It was only after she had bade him goodnight and escaped to her room with her current book that he allowed himself to succumb to the beast within. Today, however, all it had taken was a moment of holding her in his arms, and he hadn’t been able to hold it back any longer.

He’d caught her as she fell, and for a brief eternity, he’d felt her softness pressed against him. Her gentle breath had ghosted across his mouth, her tumbling curls had brushed along the arm that cradled her upper body. And her eyes…she’d looked at him with such openness, such acceptance, like she was seeing him for the first time and it wasn’t enough, would never be enough. It had been that gaze, the one that seemed capable of seeing right through the mottled skin and the wicked claws straight to the heart of him, that had been the final straw. The dark thing within him had taken one look at the pure compassion written all over her face, and it had reared its wretched head and _howled_. For all that Rumplestiltskin was melting beneath the glow of that gaze, the Dark One was _burning_. Her goodness was positively _repellant_ to the beast chained to his soul, and it made him want to run away, to never touch her again because he didn’t know if the next time would end with him kissing her or killing her. It wasn’t safe, he wasn’t safe and neither was she. He would destroy her, they would destroy each other –

He had dropped her and retreated to his spinning wheel so quickly he wondered if he had accidentally called on a bit of magic to help him. Judging by the cool moonlight now pouring in through the uncovered windows, that had been nearly eight hours ago, and he had yet to cease his spinning.

She had once asked him why he spent so much time spinning. It was a fair question, and given her disturbing penchant for poking her sweet little nose in places where it didn’t belong, it was one he was surprised it had taken her months to verbalize. After all, he was the most powerful wizard in the whole of the realm – he hardly had the need to produce his own thread, nor did he truly require gold. He could get anything he desired through his signature combination of intimidation, ruthlessness, and theatricality, and he’d always had a special talent for finding desperate souls. What use did he have for money?

Belle had undoubtedly thought of all of this. She was wicked clever, far more than he had bargained for when he had named her as his price for saving her people. He also knew that she couldn’t have been satisfied with his answer: that spinning helped him forget. She knew there was more to the story – he could see it in the curious tilt of her head and her tiny smile. However, it had not been a lie. Spinning truly did help him to forget – the pulse of the pedal, the turn of the wheel, the coarse sensation of the straw fibers rushing through his fingers. It was easy to get lost in the process.

Tonight, however, relief from his racing thoughts could not be found in the steady rhythm of the wheel. He couldn’t stop replaying that moment over and over again in his mind. He had held her, and she hadn’t been repulsed by him. She hadn’t flinched away in fear, hadn’t shuddered in disgust. On the contrary, she had held him closer! And her face! _Gods_ , her face…there was no mistaking it. She had been in _awe_ of him. She had not been afraid… Why was she not afraid?! Didn’t she know –

“Rumplestiltskin?”

His head snapped up as his gaze darted to the entryway, startling out of his self-indulgent reverie for the first time in hours. He didn’t know the precise time, but he knew it was far too late for his caretaker to still be up and about. And yet, there she stood, bathed in the blue-white glow of the late winter moonlight in nothing but a white linen nightdress. Her hair was unbound and hanging heavily on her shoulders, and her dainty feet were bare and pink with the chill of the hardwood floor. Truly, the moon was as bright as the noonday sun, and he could see it _all_ – the outline of her petite curves, the gooseflesh broken out along her ankles and calves…her perfectly puckered nipples atop the gentle swells of her breasts…

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes jumped back up to meet hers just in time enough to watch a dusky blush bloom across her cheeks and neck. She was biting her full bottom lip, and he felt as though he had been punched in the stomach.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to startle you,” Belle stammered, her voice soft and just the slightest bit raspy from sleep. “I just…wasn’t expected you to still be up. I hope I didn’t disturb –”

“You didn’t.” He couldn’t let her finish, couldn’t allow her to continue to hover in the doorway with her gentle eyes and her shining locks and her utterly delicious little breasts when he was like this. Whatever it was she needed, he desperately needed her to be getting on with it. He was no fit company tonight.

Her eyes widened at his curt response, having the gall to give her an almost hurt expression, and why couldn’t she just kill him already? Surely it would be better than this torture. “I just, ah… I couldn’t sleep, and I left my book by the fire. May I – ”

“Yes, of course, but be quick about it.”

“Of course, of course.” Nodding quickly, Belle darted over the chaise he had moved to the Great Hall and settled by the fireplace for her use in the evenings. Now that he was paying attention, he could see that she was right – the book of Wonderlandian poetry she had been making her way through for the last few days was there, resting against the cushions and open to the place where she had left off. She pulled a ribbon from the back of the book to mark the page before clutching it close to her chest. It was a bit of a relief, that tiny bit of added modesty, but not much.

Keeping his eyes carefully trained on the wheel before him, he tried to look lost in thought as she started to head for the door. _Please go, please leave me. I cannot face you again tonight…_

So focused was he on willing her to return to her chambers that he didn’t hear her approach. One moment, she was fleeing the room, and the next, her hand was on his shoulder.

Rumplestiltskin jerked so hard he nearly fell off of his chair. Her fingertips were gentle, her palm warm, and he could feel the heat of her straight through his silken shirt and brocade waistcoat. This was bad, this was very bad… His blood felt like molten lava in his veins, and he was both desperate to burn and terrified of it. He clenched his jaw and refused to meet her eyes, forcing himself to keep looking at the wheel.

“Rumplestiltskin, are you…all right?” Her voice was warm and deep. “You’ve seemed…a bit out of sorts this evening.”

“What’s that, _dearie_? Is the little maid checking up on the monster? How terribly droll.” He hardly recognized his own voice – it had been weeks since he had spoken to her with malice, but there it was, dripping from the cold words like a poison. _Good. Don’t stop. Make her leave – make her run._ Throwing in one of the high-pitched giggles that made most people uncomfortable, he lifted his chin and looked her in the eye as he continued, “What difference could it possibly make to _you_ whether I am, as you say, ‘out of sorts’?”

He wanted to hurt her. He wanted to lash out, he wanted to make her remember why he wasn’t worth her soft, bright eyes or her tender smiles or her lingering touches. She had forgotten, clearly. It had to be the moonlight, the lateness of the hour, the memory of his accidental heroics earlier. He wasn’t worth that look in her brilliant blue gaze, wasn’t worth her concern.

Belle bit her lip again, her expression somewhere between reproach and empathy. “You know that it does, Rumple,” she said, and his heart nearly stopped at her use of the nickname. “It makes all the difference in the world to me.”

No one had used that name in _decades_. He was so dumbfounded that he barely noticed her hand leaving his shoulder.

A deep, rumbling groan escaped him before he fully comprehended what was happening. Oh, _gods_ , she was stroking his _hair_!

He couldn’t stop the shudder that wracked his frame at the feeling of her delicate fingers caressing his curls. He assumed the gesture was meant to be soothing, comforting – she could tell he was distressed over something, and, as she always did, she was trying to make it better. As it was, he vaguely aware of purring like an overgrown cat as her hand made its way to the back of his head, where she paused to gently massage the nape of his neck. Her short, practical fingernails scratched him there ever so slightly, and there was no stopping it. He had been half hard since she appeared in the doorway, but now? His cock was at full attention, straining desperately, painfully against the lacings of his leather pants, and she had to leave. Right. Now.

In a flash, Rumplestiltskin was on his feet and batting her hand away with a sharp flick of his wrist. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, bearing his teeth at her like an animal. “ _Nobody_ touches the Dark One!”

Belle’s eyes flew wide open, genuine shock written all over her face. “I-I’m sorry, I just wanted to – ” But she trailed off and frowned suddenly. Shaking her head, she took a step closer to him, more determined than ever. “Now, hold on – that isn’t what you were saying just a moment ago. I know there is something bothering you, Rumplestiltskin, and I am not leaving this room until you tell me what’s going on!”

She was getting closer to him. She was going to notice – she was going to see his shame, she was going to know how pathetic he truly was. He couldn’t, no he _wouldn’t_ let her.

“Get out.”

She sighed deeply but showed no signs of retreating. Instead, she extended a hand to him, seemingly trying to touch his face. “Rumple, please, maybe I can help – ”

“You _foolish_ girl – I said get. _OUT!_ ” He’d never spoken so cruelly to her, never injected so much venom into his voice. The playful imp, the tame beast, the man beneath the monster, they had all fled in the face of his fury.

Belle took a step back, looking stricken. Her eyes became suspiciously bright in the moonlight, and even through his terror and his rage, he thought that perhaps a knife in the chest would have been less painful than the sight of tears sparkling in those impossibly blue orbs. The set of her jaw was firm even as her lower lip trembled. “Very well then. I will leave you to your thoughts. Good night, Rumplestiltskin.” In a swirl of white linen and chestnut curls, she was gone.

Only when he heard the distant echo of her bedroom door slamming shut did Rumplestiltskin collapse back onto his seat. Apparently his knees weren’t capable of holding him up anymore. He was shaking from head to toe, he couldn’t seem to catch his breath, and his heart seemed to be doing its level best to sprint right out of his chest. His mind was a tangle of so many thoughts and emotions that it would be impossible to sort through them all, so instead, he latched onto the one that was screaming the loudest.

He had never been this aroused in his entire life.

Belle had touched him – kindly, willingly touched him. She had caressed his hair, stroked his shoulder, massaged his neck. And she’d been so very close – rosewater and lavender and the warm, intimate scent well-loved down pillows and disheveled sheets had overwhelmed him, leaving him dazed. Her soft skin had been mere inches from his; he had felt the heat radiating from her through her nightdress, her perfect body made even more so in the flattering light of the full moon. Rumplestiltskin ground the heel of his hand down over the front of his trousers at the thought, desperate for some form of relief from the throbbing ache below his belt.

This was wrong. This was the very definition of wrong – it was downright abhorrent. Was he really going to touch himself to the thought of her? A tortured groan escaped him at the prospect, and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to silence himself. His body certainly liked the idea – his cock was hot, heavy, and twitching in his trousers, and he was hard to the point of pain.

What harm could it do, really? Belle would never know, would never suspect; he was sure of it. And she’d seemed so eager to help him just moments ago. Would it be so difficult to imagine that, perhaps, instead of banishing her from the room, he had instead allowed her to help with his…problem?

Rumplestiltskin’s hips bucked involuntarily at the imagery that came along with that thought, and the decision was made for him. He had to do something about the relentless, pulsating desire quickly coiling within him or he would lose his link to what precious sanity he had remaining forever. With quivering hands, he tore at the laces of his breeches, ripping him open with almost savage enthusiasm and hissing as the cold air of the Great Hall came in contact with his overheated prick. He had his hand wrapped around it in an instant, giving himself a firm downward stroke. Even though his palm was far rougher than he knew hers to be, imagining that it was her, his precious girl, his darling Belle, touching him in his way made it electric. He arched his back and canted his hips forward, desperately seeking more of his own touch.

“Unngghh, gods, _yes_.” He couldn’t stay quiet, not when in his mind’s eye he was watching his little maid stroke and fondle the one part of him that still resembled a real man. Her cheeks would wear the pretty flush that she always seemed to have ready for him when he said something shocking, she would nibble on that bottom lip the way she did when she was concentrating deeply, and her breasts, those lush peaches he was certain would be the perfect size for his palm, would rise and fall rapidly with each panting breath.

But it was her eyes he could see most clearly of all, for he knew precisely how they would be looking at him as she pleased him. They would be the same warm, compassionate eyes that had been burning him up from the inside for weeks now. She would stroke his cock firmly, slipping her dainty little thumb over the sensitive tip on each pass, and she would do it with the same acceptance, the same lack of reproach, the same gentle understanding that she always offered him. Perfect, selfless, giving.

Rumplestiltskin whimpered miserably at the image. This was _wrong_. Gods, this was so, so very wrong. She didn’t deserve his, to be the subject of a monster’s twisted nocturnal pleasure fantasies. Belle was too kind and good for that. He didn’t deserve her kindness – he was a beast, a vile creature of the darkness, and the malevolent presence bound to this soul raged and snarled in protest of her affection. He was either going to destroy her utterly or he was going to taint her so deeply that she would lose what made her so good forever. Her goodness, her light – it inspired something in a part of his old heart that he had thought long dead. It felt frighteningly, dangerously like hope.

Rumplestiltskin pumped his throbbing, aching cock faster, his jaw clenching and his whole body practically vibrating as he chased his climax. Precum had begun to seep from the tip of him, and he eagerly spread it over his shaft to ease the way of his hand. She would be so lovely, so perfect, he thought. She would be exactly what he needed – she would take care of him. How long had it been since someone had taken care of him? His soul might be black as pitch, but hers was as pure as gold, and he was going to bury himself in it. He was going to lose himself in her light – there was redemption in her, he knew there was, she could fix him, she could bring him back to the man he used to be –

“ _Fuck_ – Belle!”

His climax broke over him like a wave, and he couldn’t hold back his sob of relief as thick, hot ropes of his seed spurted into his hand and onto the floor. He could feel every muscle in his body straining through the roaring pleasure, desperate to wring every last ounce of sensation out of it that he could. He continued to stroke himself, but gently now, as he drifted back down, panting and twitching and moaning under his breath. In those moments as his muscles turned to jelly and he sagged forward in his chair, his mind was blissfully silent. Belle wasn’t even in the room, and she had managed to get him to forget his own name.

It didn’t take long, however, before the sheen of sweat that had broken out over his scaly flesh began to cool, and Rumplestiltskin noticed that he had begun to shiver. Swallowing, he withdrew a silk handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and cleaned himself up as best as he could before tucking his now-soft prick back into his trousers. He bent to wipe up the mess from the floor, as well, but as he did so, something else caught his eye.

There was cum on his spinning wheel.

The sight made Rumplestiltskin nearly sick with shame. What had he been thinking? Belle was kind and good. She would look past his rotten teeth and his green-gold scales, his disconcerting eyes and his wicked claws, if he wished it. She would even look past all of the terrible things he had done, all of the dark deeds he had committed in the name of power, in the name of finding his son. But what would she find, once she had looked past all of that?

A poor, frightened spinner, with a lame leg and a pigeon chest and the heart of a coward.

His Belle deserved a prince, a valiant knight, someone with as much bravery and spirit as her. She deserved someone who could take care of her and protect her when she was sad or in danger. She deserved someone who would hold her close without a staff to support himself, someone who would want to see the world with her instead of hiding in fear of it.

Belle deserved so much more than him.

With a heavy sigh, Rumplestiltskin used the last clean corner of his handkerchief to wipe away the final evidence of his disgrace. There was redemption in her, of that much he was certain, but he had no right to seek it. He was no one, not really. He was nothing. Nothing but a coward trussed up in a demon’s body. No one could ever love him.

Shoving the soiled handkerchief into his pocket, he settled himself back in front of the wheel, placed his foot on the pedal, and resumed his spinning once more. Perhaps this time he would be able to forget.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first piece of fic I have written and finished in about seven years. I wrote it in response to a prompt sent to me by a dear friend after I told her that I had signed up for the Rumbelle Christmas in July event on Tumblr. This was meant to help me practice. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
